Classic Poem

" IF it should chance a woman is not fair,
She should make up her lacks with dainty dress —
Its elegance offsets her ugliness.
If she should lose her hair — the saddest sight —
Because it falls too soon from her blond head,
Or else because of some great malady
She finds it needful to cut short her curls,
Diminishing her beauty by the act,
Or else because some angry ribald tears
Her hair in anger, leaving not enough
To form a braid, then she must soon procure
The hair of someone who has lately died,
Or else she must make pads of yellow silk
To tuck beneath her few remaining locks.
Above her ears such towering horns she'll wear
As never buck nor stag nor unicorn
Could boast if he should dare to match with her;
And if she should have need to dye her hair,
There's many an herb with which it may be tinged,
For root and bark and stem and leaf and fruit
Possess the qualities of medicines.
" If she is pale and finds this cause of grief,
Moist unguents in her chamber in a box
She should provide, and always by herself,
In secret, can her color be renewed.
Let her take care that not a lover sees
Or knows her use of such a subterfuge.
Too sad mischance might well result from that.
If her neck's beautiful, and white her throat,
She should instruct her dressmaker to cut
Her robe so low that half a foot of skin
Shows fair and clean behind and in the front,
Thus so much more attracting all the men.
If she should think her shoulders are too large
To be most pleasing at a dance or ball,
Then she should wear a dress of thinnest lawn,
In which her figure will appear less gross.
If she have hands that are not smooth and fair
But rough or calloused, she should care for them,
All blemishes removing with a pin,
Or hiding scabs and blisters in her gloves.
If she have breasts that are too large and full,
Napkin or kerchief she should bind about
Her body, knotting it or sewing fast,
To hold them close against her chest; and then
She may enjoy herself at any dance.
" A maid should keep her Venus' chamber clean;
If she would be considered well brought up,
No spiderwebs will she allow about
That she'll not burn or scrub or scour away;
Nor leave a soapy puddle in the place.
" If she has ugly feet, they are well shod;
A leg too large is clothed in finest silk.
In brief, if she's aware of any flaw,
She'll cover it unless she is a fool.
" If her breath's bad, it should not be too hard
To hold her peace until she's breakfasted,
Or at the least to turn her mouth away,
That people's noses it may not approach.
" When she's amused, she always smiles so well
That she discloses dimples in her cheeks;
She neither opens wide her jaws to laugh,
Nor closes them too tight in simpering.
A woman ne'er should laugh with open mouth;
Her lips must cover and conceal her teeth;
For if too wide a gulf appears, it looks
As though her face were slit — it's no fair sight —
And if she have not even, well-shaped teeth,
But ugly, crooked ones, she'll be less prized
Should she let them appear in laugh or smile.
" Important is her manner when in tears,
But every woman is expert enough
In lachrymation in whatever place;
For, even though men do to them no wrong
Nor give them grief or shame, their ready tears
Are always at their call. All women weep
In whatsoever fashion pleases them.
A man should never be too much disturbed
Though women's tears he sees fall thick as rain;
For ne'er she rains such tears or shows such grief
Or such chagrin, except for trickery.
Naught but a ruse the tears of women are;
'Tis not with grief that they are most concerned,
But with the thought how they can best conceal,
By what they say or do, what's in their minds.
" Fit manners should she have when she's at meat;
But ere she takes her seat she should appear
Often outside the door and let all know
How busy she has been about the meal.
Hither and thither she should go and come,
And be the last of all to take her place,
Although the company may have to wait.
When she is seated, finally, she looks
To see that each one properly is served;
Before them all she breaks and passes bread.
To gain his grace, she chooses some one friend
To eat with her, serves him with leg or wing
Or cuts him some fine bit of beef or pork,
Or fish or flesh — whatever there may be.
She'll not be stingy if he will accept.
She should not wet her fingers in the sauce
Beyond the joint, nor soil her lips with soup,
With garlic, or fat meat; nor pile a heap
Of food and then convey it to her mouth.
With tips of fingers she should handle bits
That she should dip in sauce, white, yellow, or green,
And very carefully the mouthful lift,
That on her breast no bit of pepper falls,
Or soup or gravy. Then so gracefully
She should her goblet quaff that not a drop
She spills upon her clothes, for far too rude
Or gluttonous men might consider her
If they should see such accident occur.
The common cup should not approach her lips
While yet there is some food within her chops;
And ere she drinks she wipes her mouth so clean
That on her lips no speck of grease adheres,
At least not on her upper lip, for then
Globules of it might float upon the wine,
Which would be most disgusting and not neat.
However thirsty she may be, she drinks
A little at a time; she never drains
A goblet at a draft, nor e'en a cup,
But often sips, lest others she incite
To say that with a glutton's throat she gulps;
Deliciously the drink should trickle down.
She should not suck the goblet's brim too much,
As nursemaids often do, so gluttonous
And boorish that they pour into their throats
The wine as crudely as if into a barrel,
And swallow such great mouthfuls at one time
That they are overcome and dazed with drink.
A lady should beware of drunkenness,
For not a man or woman while in drink
Could ever keep a secret; just as soon
As she intoxicated has become,
She babbles everything that's in her mind.
A drunken woman is without defense,
And prey to any man, when she has done
Such mischief to herself. She should not sleep
At table; 'tis a most uncomely thing,
And many a mishap has occurred to those
Who thus have dozed. 'Tis not good sense to sleep
In places that are meant for waking hours;
Thus napping, many folk have come to grief,
For, falling on their faces, sides, or backs,
They've broken arms or ribs or even heads.
A woman who thus feels beset with sleep
The fate of Palinurus should recall,
Who steered Aeneas' ship, and steered it well
So long as he contrived to keep awake,
But, when at last he was with sleep o'erwhelmed,
Losing the tiller, he fell overboard,
And drowned before his shipmates' very eyes,
Who long lamented, afterward, his death.
" A maid should take good care that not too long
She waits before she plays the game of love,
For 'tis quite possible thus to delay
Until no one will offer her his hand.
While she enjoys her youth, she should pursue
The joys of love; for, when old age assaults,
She'll have no further part in lovers' bouts.
The woman who is wise will pluck the fruit
While she is in the flower of her age.
The more, unfortunate, she loses time,
The more will pass the savor of love's joys.
If she despise the counsel that I give
But for the common profit, she'll repent
When age shall wither all her loveliness.
But well I know wise women will believe
And keep the rules I give; and they will say
Full many a paternoster for my soul
When I am dead, because I teach them now
And comfort them; for well I know my words
In many a school will be hereafter read.
" Most fair, sweet son, I know that if you live
You'll willingly inscribe within a book,
Without omission, all my tutoring,
And when you leave me, please God, you will teach
And be professor of the art, like me.
In spite of what all chancellors may say,
I give you license for your lectureship,
To school your pupils in the upper halls
And lower rooms, in gardens, fields, and woods,
Beneath pavilions, under tapestries,
In garrets, wardrobes, pantries, or in stables,
If you cannot more pleasant places find,
Provided that my precepts you'll expound
When you have mastered and committed them.
" A woman should against seclusion guard;
The more she stays at home, the less she's seen,
And so the less her loveliness is sought —
The less men covet and solicit her.
To church she oft should go, and visits pay,
Attend all weddings, all processions see,
View festivals, and plays, and carolings.
Cupid and Venus at such times keep school,
And for their pupils celebrate high mass.
" But in her mirror she should first observe
If she is well attired; and, when she feels
That all is perfect, through the streets she'll go
With most seductive motion, not too stiff
Nor yet too much relaxed, not low, or high,
But moving gracefully throughout the crowd.
So nobly sway her shoulders and her hips
That men no motion could believe more fair.
Genteelly she can walk in fine, small shoes
Which she's had fashioned so becomingly
That without wrinkle they will fit her feet.
" If she wears dress that trails upon the ground
Or near the pavement hangs, at front or sides
She lifts it slightly, as to feel the air,
Or as to give a chance for freer tread;
But she takes care thus to disclose her foot,
That its fair form the passers-by may see.
" In case she wears a mantle, it should hang
So that it may not interfere too much
With seeing the fair body it protects;
And, that her form the better may appear,
As well as what she wears beneath her cloak
(Which neither thick nor thin should be, but gilt
With silver thread-work and with little pearls),
Not to forget the alms purse all should see,
She frequently in both her hands will seize
Her cloak, and, stretching wide her arms, stand still,
Whether the road be dry or deep with mud,
Reminding one of the brilliant, feathered wheel
That peacocks fashion when they spread their tails.
She'll know how best to do this if her cloak
Have lining gray or green or of what hue
She may have chosen, and she thus will show
Her figure openly to all who gaze.
" If less than beautiful her face should be,
If she is wise, she'll often turn her head
To show her precious, golden-gleaming locks,
Plaited above her comely neck behind;
Most pleasing is the beauty of the hair.
" With care should women always imitate
The wolf when she desires to steal a sheep.
That she may fail not, and be sure of one,
A thousand she assails; she never knows,
Before she has him caught, which one she'll get.
A woman everywhere should spread her nets
To capture all the men; she cannot tell
With whom she will find grace. That at the least
She may succeed in drawing to herself
But one of them, she'll try to hook them all;
Then it can scarcely chance that none she'll find,
Among the many thousand fools there are,
Who'll rub her flanks for her. She should find more
Than one, for art is nature's greatest aid.
" If several she should get upon her hook
Who wish to place her on the spit, she guards,
Howe'er the contest goes, that in one hour
She make appointment with but one of them;
For, if a number should together come,
They'd think themselves deceived, and all might leave.
She might be shamed, and at the least she'd lose
The presents they would bring; whereas her care
Should be to leave to none of them the means
Of living well, and bring them one and all
To such great poverty that each will die
Most wretchedly in debt and leave her rich;
Whate'er she's failed to get will then be lost.
" She need not worry o'er a poor man's love,
For such a one is nothing worth to her;
Though Ovid 'twere or Homer, he would have
The value of two goblets at the most.
Nor should she strive to win a stranger's love,
For, as in many an inn he eats and sleeps,
As shifty as his body is his heart.
I counsel not to love a traveler,
But, in his sojourn, if he offer gems
Or money, she may put them in her box
And then his pleasure she may well fulfill
Immediately — or she may make him wait.
" A woman never should as lover take
A man of too great elegance, or one
Who boasts of beauty; pride has all his heart.
Doubt not that one who's satisfied with self
Deserves the wrath of God. Thus Ptolemy,
By whom was science greatly loved, has said,
Such men have not the power truly to love,
So bitter and so evil are their hearts;
What they profess to one they say to all.
Many a woman's by such man deceived
But that he may despoil and plunder her.
Complaints I've heard from many thus seduced.
" If promisers, sincere or false, appear
And swear that they will link their lives to hers
To gain her love, a woman may in turn
Give promises to them; but let her guard
Lest she should put herself within their power,
Unless she first gets good return in cash.
" If one sends her a letter, she should note
Whether he writes deceivingly, or shows,
Writing wholeheartedly, intentions good.
After a little time she'll write in turn,
But not without delay; for negligence
Oft teases lovers on, but not for long.
" When she shall hear the lover press his suit,
She should not haste to offer him her love
Nor all deny; but him in balance hold,
That he may fearful be, yet have some hope.
When he the harder begs, she has him caught
So firmly that she need not grant her love
But, while she still defends herself with force
And ingenuity, she fans his faith.
Then by degrees she lets her fears subside
And seems to weaken till he treaty makes
And they are in accord. But as she yields
She knows enough of guileful tricks to swear
By God and all the male and female saints
That, howsoever much solicited,
She ne'er before has yielded to a man.
" This is the consummation," she will say,
" And by the faith I owe the Pope in Rome
I swear that now I give myself to you
Not for the presents you have given me
But for true love alone. I'd do this thing
For not another man in all the world,
However great he seemed, for any gift.
Many a valiant man has courted me,
And I've refused them all. But now I think
You have bewitched me with your evil chant."
And then still further to deceive the fool
She clasps him tight and gives him many a kiss.
" But, if she'll heed my counsel, she will pay
Attention to no thing except her price.
To the last feather should she pluck her friend,
Unless she is a simpleton or fool;
For she who best knows how to strip the gull
Will much the better of the bargain have.
The thing that's dearest bought is dearest held;
But what men get for nothing they despise,
And value it less than they would a shuck;
And if they lose it they are not disturbed.
At least their irritation's not so great
As for the loss of things that cost them dear.
" But plundering a lover needs some skill:
A woman's varlets and her chambermaid,
Her nurse and sister, and her mother, too,
Unless she's foolish, many presents need
Before they will consent to aid the cause.
The lover should present them robes or cloaks,
Or gloves or mittens, which they'll pounce upon
Like kites that ravish all that they can seize.
In no way can he from their hands escape
Until he's given cash and gems to them,
As if he played the game with worthless chips,
And his last sou is spent. The booty goes
Most quickly when 'tis plucked by many hands.

" From time to time they'll say, " Sir, don't you see
How much your lady needs a costume new?
You are the one to give it. Can you let
Her suffer such a lack? Now, by Saint Giles,
If she would do the will of one who lives
Right in this village, she might dress like queen
And ride with great equipment. By Our Dame,
Why do you wait so long to order it?
'Tis shameful you should leave her suffering."
And she, no matter how much she is pleased,
Should bid them cease, because, perhaps she'll say,
He may be straitened by so many gifts.
" But if she sees that he his gifts perceives
To be more numerous than he should give
And that he's deeply grieved at the amount
Which he must furnish her, then she'll relax
Her prayers for costly gifts, and rather beg
A loan from him, which she swears she'll repay
On whatsoever day he please to name.
But I'd forbid return of anything.
" Then if another friend revisit her
(Of whom she certainly should several have,
And all should claim as friends, although she trusts
Her heart to none of them), then she'll complain,
If she is wise, that her best gown's in pawn,
Held in security upon a loan,
The interest on which mounts day by day,
On which account she feels anxiety
And is so brokenhearted she can do
Nothing to please him till she has her pledge.
If he's a foolish youth — mere source of cash —
He'll thrust his hand at once into his purse
Or give his note to get the sum she needs
To free from pawn her robe, which really needs
No freeing, for it's locked within some chest
Out of his sight. To her it matters not
If he should search her closet and her press
Better to be convinced. She gets the cash.
" A similar deception serves a third:
She asks of him a wimple or a dress
Or silver girdle; then some cash to spend.
If he has no gold with him, but declares,
To comfort her, that he'll tomorrow bring,
Unless he suffers loss of hand or foot,
All that she asks, then let her ears be deaf.
Let her believe him not; these are but lies.
" Far too expert in lying are all men.
The debauchees have sworn to me more oaths
To fortify their lies, in former days,
Than there are saints in Heaven. If he can't pay,
Then let him borrow for a trifling fee,
Or go away, elsewhere to find his fun.
" Unless she is a fool, she'll make a show
Of cowardice, when she her friend receives,
By trembling and displaying signs of fear,
Distraction, and most dire anxiety;
And she should make him clearly understand
The risk she runs for him when she beguiles
Her husband, parents, or her guardians.
She'll say that if her deed should come to light,
Which she is willing to do secretly,
'Twould be the death of her, beyond a doubt,
And swear he must not long remain with her
If he'd not have her slain before his eyes.
When she's bespelled him thus, he's sure to stay.
" She should make note when next he's due to come,
And through the window, if there's none to spy,
Let her receive him, though the door would serve,
And swear that she is ruined and nigh dead,
And that there nothing would be left of him
If anyone should know he was within;
For no sharp-pointed weapon would avail —
No helm or hauberk, spear or battle club,
No hutch or closet, and no secret room —
To save their bodies from dismemberment.
" Then ought the dame to sigh and seem displeased,
Assailing him and trampling him roughshod,
Accusing him of having stayed so long
Away from her for reasons of his own;
That in his lodgings he some other friend
Is keeping, whom he much prefers to her,
Because of whom his love has turned to hate
And she's betrayed; and that she well might call
Herself deserted — loving but unloved
When he shall hear these words, his foolish brain
Will falsely think she loves him loyally,
Since far more jealous she has shown herself
Than Vulcan was of Venus, when his wife
He found with Mars in proved adultery.
After the fool had watched them all too well,
Within the net that he had forged of brass
He held them both in painful bonds confined,
Conjoined and close united in the game of Love. "